An eye for an eye
by Ricky Sparks
Summary: Spoilers! Don't read if you haven't beaten the Brotherhood. Someone dies, but a special store in Stillwater can help...


(Author's note.) I'm going to say this now. I'm basing the PC off my own on SR2. The clothes, the hair, the make-up, the weapon preferences, the bikes, they're all the ones I have in-game. This is my character, so I gave him more than 'Playa' or 'Boss' for an identity. If you don't like it, blow me.

Disclaimer: I don't own shit.

Taylor Warrant had promised Carlos he'd make a banger out of him, and he had. The two of them had just put nuclear waste in Maero's tattoo ink, and Carlos was on top of the world in his own mind. Now, so soon after Carlos had moved up in the gang, he lay on the street, chained to a Brotherhood truck. He had been dragged facedown by it all over the docks. The rain had started pouring as Taylor pulled on the chain, which held fast, completely unyielding. He rolled Carlos over, releasing a tortured yell from the young man. Kicking the tailgate, Taylor was stumped. He was helpless to save Carlos. There was only one thing that could be done. He kneeled down to meet the crying Saint and took his hand in his own gloved one, softly but firmly, letting Carlos know his pain was almost over. For just a second, Carlos stopped crying, though the pain was still there. He looked up at his idol, blinking the tears and rain away, his face, a brutal carving of little flesh, bloody muscle, and cut-up bone. He looked into the eyes of the man he got stabbed just to meet and speak to, the man who put his faith in him and escaped from prison with, the man who made him someone. For that second, the pain was forgotten, replaced with sorrow, acceptance, and love. The kind of love a young man has for an older man who teaches him everything, the love that cannot be defined. Deeper than brothers, though not father-son. It was more than respect. Taylor had his respect the moment they reached Stillwater. It was the love that would make Carlos endure this abuse a second time in a heartbeat just to help this man. As he lay there, holding his hand for one last time, he squeezed Taylor's, forming a smile as best as he could. A moment later, Taylor sent a nine mil through his head, ending the pain once and for all. As the rain continued to pour, blood and brains floated around Carlos, and though his grip loosened, Taylor's held firm. He called Pierce for a ride, and to make sure he brought towels.

A week passed after Carlos died. The Brotherhood was crippled, Jennifer was dead, and Maero was about to be confirmed dead too. Taylor had just returned from Carlos's grave, wanting to tell him that he'd been avenged. While driving through Stillwater, he saw a billboard advertising a place called Eye For An Eye. It said something about helping those who've been murdered find satisfaction,, or something. All he caught was that, and a phone number. He pulled over and dialed it. He expected to hear some mournful recording, but what he heard really caught him off guard. (AN: You'll just have to play the game to know what it was.) With no conversation at all, Taylor put his phone away and finished driving back to New Saint's Row (That's just what I call it.).

Later that night, as Taylor tried to get some sleep in the old hotel, he heard something moving around. After a few minutes of it going on, he realized in his stupor that it wasn't any of the Saints wandering around. And if it wasn't one of the Saints, it could be a threat. He pulled on his black tank top, his black and purple snakeskin pants and matching boots, and his purple vinyl gloves. He left his plastic devil horns off, thinking there wasn't time for them. He grabbed his .44's and his katana and crept out of his room. Walking down the hall, the noise sounded like shuffling feet. Maybe it was one of the Saints, sleepwalking. But as he turned to go back to sleep, he caught a whiff of something so foul, no human on the planet would eat it, even IF they were sleepwalking. It was the smell of road kill. Something wasn't right. Taylor continued down the hallway and opened the a door to another hallway to find the most horrifying thing he had ever seen. There, at the other end of the hallway, stood a lone figure. It was barefoot and bloody. It wore torn up pants covered in blood, but what first caught his attention was the color. The pants were Saints' Purple. Moving up, the figure wore a bloody once-white tank top. It wasn't the blood or the pants that scared Taylor the most, however. It was the figure's head. Where there should have been a face, all there was, was a mouth and a nose-bottom. Bellow the top of his skull was a big, gapping hole about the size of a bullet wound at point-blank. Taylor could clearly see the wall behind the figure through the hole in his head. All he could do was utter the first thing that came to his mind.

"…Carlos…?"

A loud, drawn out moan was his reply, and the figure lurched forward. Slowly, stumbling, he made his way closer to Taylor. He stretched out his arms as far as he could and shuffled closer, moaning his pitiful, sorrowful moan. Taylor raised a .44 and glared at him.

"Stop! Don't come any closer!"

Carlos continued forward.

"I said STOP!"

No change.

"I'll shoot!"

Nothing, not even a moment's hesitance. He just kept moving toward him. Taylor couldn't take it anymore. He fired a shot at the man he believed was Carlos. He hit him in the shoulder, but he kept coming. Firing another shot, he hit him in the chest. A small flinch, and he kept moving, crying out a bloody moan of anguish. Soon, Taylor was out of bullets, but Carlos was still walking. He turned around, but found the door was locked. He rammed the door, but it held. He kicked it, but it refused to budge. Carlos was almost upon him. He pulled his katana and swung at Carlos, connecting with him. As he tried to pull the sword out, though, he found it to be stuck inside the body. And now, Carlos had him. He pinned Taylor to door and tried over and over to bite him. Taylor held him back, but it was a major struggle just to hold him back. It was all he could do to keep from being bit. There was no chance of escape. He yelled out for someone to help him, but nobody came. After a few minutes, his arms grew weak, and he couldn't hold Carlos back anymore. He felt the bloody, decaying mouth bite down into his throat. As he yelled, he could hear and feel the blood draining into his windpipe, gurgling in his screams of pain. He could feel himself slipping away. As he let the darkness take him, he heard a familiar voice.

"Boss? Boss?! BOSS! WAKE UP!"

That was Shaundi. Wake up? Taylor shot up in his bed, shouting, knocking Shaundi to the floor.

"Boss, calm down!" she said. "It was only a dream."

Taylor looked around. He was in his bed, in his underwear, and Shaundi had been trying to wake him up.

"What is it?" he asked as he tried to catch his breath.

: "Boss, I know you don't like to be disturbed, but there's something you have to see downstairs. Oh, and don't worry about your piercings or make-up. You'll probably go back to sleep anyway."

Taylor got dressed and followed Shaundi downstairs. As they entered the hotel lobby, he froze dead in his tracks. There, at the bar, was the same Carlos he'd seen in his dream.

"Shaundi? What the HELL is THAT?!"

"Boss. I know this is gonna sound strange, but listen. Brace yourself for this. It's Carlos. He's come back."

"No. No! That's impossible! This only happens in movies and shit!"

"Boss? Did you call Eye For An Eye?"

"…What the hell does that matter?"

"He came with this."

Shaundi held up a bloody receipt. On it was a charge for voodoo resurrection and a phone number. Under the number was a hand written note.

'_Whenever you need his help, just call this number, and he'll be right there. Enjoy, and thank you for shopping with us.'_


End file.
